Hush Little Baby
by Nienna100
Summary: With Zainab dead, another obstacle to Christian and Syed's relationship is removed. But Masood is stricken with grief, can baby Kamil find a home with Christian and Syed? Chryed slash
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**A/N1: This is my first multi-chaptered Chyred fic. I hope you like it, though this is just the prologue. This is set on the day of Kamil's birth; Zainab's locked in the Unit, but Christian didn't return to visit her. No one noticed her absence that afternoon.**

Christian raised his head from the pint he was pulling at the bar when he heard the scream of sirens racing past the pub.

"What's that? 'Nother muggin' you reckon?" the customer on the other side of the counter asked. His name was Anthony, and he was here every evening at 5.30pm, without fail, after another day at work. He was one of the most miserable estate agents Christian had ever met, but always seemed desperate for conversation.

"Who knows? Times are changing," Christian shrugged, placing the glass on the counter. The correct money was pressing into Christian's hand in exchange, and he continued, "That was my niece who was mugged before. No one deserves that much fear, certainly not a sixteen year old girl."

"I blame the parents..." the man sighed.

Christian hid a chuckle as he turned towards the till to deposit the cash. Conversations with the older punters and the complaints they made, whether alcohol had loosened their tongues or not, were always amusing. He put the conversation out of mind, however, as another customer drew his attention with a wave.

000

Christian stroked his hair through the curls in Tracy's hair, letting the strands slip through his fingers. "Have you ever considered straightening it?"

"No, Christian," she groaned.

"You should. That could be fun," Christian decided.

"I don't think so somehow," she drawled.

Chelsea had wanted the evening off for a date, and had so swapped shifts with Tracy for the day. She rarely worked with Christian for an extended period of time. "Maybe a full fringe?" Christian suggested. "Instead of this side... thing. You can let it down you know."

Tracy was grateful when a new punter sat down at the bar and began to take off his coat. "Can I get you something?" She broke away from her colleague and moved towards the man.

"Pint of your finest please?" Resisting the urge to pout at Tracy's obvious disinterest, Christian waited until she was done. The man was still speaking. "Heard that commotion down the road?" he asked the men next to him.

"No? What happened?" the second man asked, taking a swig from his glass.

"Someone died at that cooking place Beale runs. They say she got locked in a room, couldn't get out... and died."

That attracted Christian's attention and his head whipped around, as the second man asked his question. "Who?"

"Some Muslim bird," the first said with a shrug.

Horror flooded through Christian's system, freezing him in place. He only just managed to stutter out the question, "Amira?"

The man shook his head. "No, the mother. Z... someone."

Christian had already turned to Tracy. "Cover for me," he ordered, though the words came out as a snarl. He raced out of the pub before the barmaid could protest.

000

He tore his way through the streets, towards the Unit, almost knocking over Billy Mitchell at his stall before he had even begun. At his pace, with his fitness, it did not take long. Soon enough, he could see them at the end of the road, luminous yellow ambulances, police cars and then the crowds. People had such insanely high, innate, intense curiosity. Sometimes they just couldn't look away. They had to peer and pry into other people's pain... Schadenfreude. It was everywhere. Were the roles reversed, Christian questioned how they would like it if that was their mother, their partner, and they were suffering, but everyone knew of their grief... watched it unfold.

But there were ambulances... If Zainab was dead, had been found that way about half an hour ago, would they still be there? Surely it would just be the police cars and a pathologist... Was someone else hurt? Was she really still alive? Rumour was never very clear, let alone accurate. Hope sparked inside him and he picked up his pace, forcing himself to run just that little bit faster. When he reached the crowds, he did not quite slow down quick enough, and almost skidded into those at the back. He was then forced to elbow his way through to the front, to the police tape.

The first thing he saw was Syed. All he saw was Syed sometimes. The younger man stood on the other side of the police line, completely alone. Oh God, he looked so lost... Christian could barely drag his eyes away from him, but he registered the presence of both Tamwar and Masood in the moment that he paused. The reams of uniformed figures teeming behind the tape were as anonymous to Christian as shop mannequins were; faceless supports for clothes and nothing more.

Shaking off his paralysis, Christian ducked under the tape, but a hand on his chest prevented him from taking a step forwards. "You can't come in here, mate."

"Yes, yes I can," Christian growled, and called out, "Sy!"

The agony in the dark eyes which met his made Christian want to weep for him. "Christian." The whisper was almost completely stolen by the wind, but the policeman dropped his hand to allow Christian to step forwards. A moment later, his strong arms were around Syed.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Christian murmured down into Syed's dark hair. He held the man who had once been his lover so close it was almost crushing, but he knew that was what the younger man needed. Part of him knew that he ought not to be so obviously close to Syed, but who was going to scold them? Zainab certainly was not. A hysterical bubble of laughter burst in Christian's throat.

"She's dead. Mum's dead," Syed gasped desperately. His hands found the chest of Christian's shirt and he latched on, clinging to him. A drowning man in the middle of the street, though the only water falling was from his eyes. Tears rushed down his cheeks, staining his eyes red. What the hell did anything matter anymore? Christian would hold him tight, Christian would never let him sink.

"Shh, shh, I know. I know she is," Christian soothed. "I'm sorry." There was nothing he could do or say to make this better, but hold the other as he was doing. How could he tell Syed it was all OK, when it was anything but? "I've got you."

Syed's whole body was trembling, shaking far more violently than the shiver which had occurred earlier that morning, at the thoughts of Bradley's death. But the words poured from Syed's lips as tears did from his eyes. "It's my fault, Christian. She's dead because of me. It's all my fault!" He was choking on his words, the shuddering of his chest and the constriction of his throat making it near impossible to speak.

Horrified that Syed could think that, Christian ordered, "It isn't your fault, Syed. Stop that. Stop that now." His tone was near unforgivably stern for addressing a man who had just lost his mother, but Christian had to cut off the thought before it could fix its gnarly roots in Syed's mind firmly. He had seen the younger man's downwards spiral into that belief before, and was determined that it was not going to happen again. "Don't do that to yourself."

"But it is... I argued with her... I slammed the door."

Past that sob, Christian could get very little more out of him, and quieted in turn. They stood there, still and near silent, Christian holding his love close against him as the wind whipped around them, chafing his cheeks. Syed's were sheltered by Christian, but goosebumps raised on the older man's arms; he had rushed from the warmth of the Vic in nothing but a short sleeved shirt, and found himself superficially grateful that he had Syed's warmth against his front.

He had promised himself long ago - though smarting from Zainab's attacks with postcards and in a relationship with Leyton - that he would be there for Syed. Whenever the other needed him, until love's cruel grip released them, he would be there, to hold him, to make him laugh, to let him talk... about anything and everything, to spare a smile when it was most needed.

Standing in the middle of the street, Christian found himself bereft of words which would comfort his love. What if Syed was waiting for him to say something? But no... one glance down told Christian that Syed was battling with his own guilt laden torment. Christian sighed. Her might not have been the president of the Zainab fanclub, but that didn't mean he believed she deserved to die; her opinions and his clashed on so many occasions, but the worst conflict occurred between her and Syed, because there was so much emotion there. But however she insulted and hurt Syed, shied away from his embrace as if it were poison to her and her baby, the son had always loved her. Christian therefore had no right to make any judgement, let alone feel hurt.

The sound of a cry whipped past Christian's ear and he drew away from Syed slightly in surprise. It had come from the doorway to the Unit. As he watched, a bundle was pressed into Masood's arms; that was the source of the cry. The cry of a newborn. Christian gasped. "Is that the baby?"

Syed confirmed it with a nod. "My brother."

**A/N2: Chapters will be longer than this in the future I promise. Reviews are love.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"Not… How?" Christian was astonished that the baby had survived, and automatically feared for it. A child who was seen as the bringer of death of the mother always inevitably found itself resented. Syed gave no answer to the question, but Christian did not push for it either. He would find out in the end.

"Come on, move back now," a policeman was ordering, and, not wanting to push his luck, Christian gently drew Syed back towards the police-line.

"What are they doing?" Syed hoarsely asked.

Christian had glanced back to where they had been standing, and had seen the ominously black private ambulance pull in. "I think… I think they're going to bring out the body… your mum, Sy," he was forced to conclude.

Horror covered Syed's face. "I… I can't. Without warning, he broke out of the arms of the elder man, and was sprinting down the street. Away from the crowds.

"Sy!" Not caring that he might not be wanted, Christian took off after Syed, managing to catch up with him before he reached the Square and faces who would recognise him. He was sure that Syed must have heard his footsteps, for he halted in the centre of the street very suddenly, and allowed Christian to place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not going back there. I won't. Don't make me, Christian." With that last, Syed looked up pleadingly into his ex-lover's eyes.

"You don't have to. I promise," Christian reached out to stroke the younger boy's cheek. "What do you want to do?"

"Can we go to yours? Please Christian."

000

Christian absolutely understood Syed's need to escape, to hide from those staring eyes. They had come into the flat and immediately, Syed had headed for the bedroom to shelter in the dark. It made sense in a way – this small perfectly decorated flat was the only place that Syed could be himself and feel safe. With the shock of his mother's death, it was no wonder that he wanted the one place in the world that was safe, that he had been able to be himself in; everything else had been turned upside down.

The kettle was just starting to boil when there was the buzz of the intercom. Cautiously, Christian picked up the phone.

"Christian! What the hell?"

"Roxy…"

"You left Trace by her self! Why aren't you picking up your phone?"

Christian sighed. He had expected to face her wrath, but not so quickly as this. "Please Rox. Another time, yeah babe?"

"No. Now. Let me up."

Reluctantly, Christian buzzed her up, and returned to the kitchen. He was just pouring the hot water into the mug, when the door was pushed opened.

She attempted to continue berating him, but Christian shushed her. "Just give me a minute, OK? Then I'll explain everything."

Roxy pouted slightly, but closed the door anyway.

"Christian what's going on?" This time the question came from Syed, who had emerged from the bedroom wearing nothing more than his jeans.

Ignoring the open-mouthed Roxy, Christian moved towards his lover, and put one arm around his waist. "Nothing." Shooting a warning glare at Roxy, Christian pressed a kiss to the younger man's forehead, allowing him to press up against him for a moment. "Come on. Back in here, Sy," Christian murmured. He placed a mug of tea and a couple of white tablets into the younger man's hands. "They should help you."

Syed accepted them in silence, not paying attention to the tears running down his cheeks, and headed back into the bedroom. Christian softly closed the door behind him. Demonstrating a lot of uncharacteristic restraint, Roxy kept quiet until the door was closed. Then she exploded. "What the hell Christian? I pay you to serve beer, not men. Not to commit adultery. His mum's just died! You're taking advantage of a grieving man!"

"Keep your voice down!" hissed a defensive Christian. "Do you see me taking advantage? Really? Because I just handed over sleeping pills and tea. Not ecstasy and vodka."

"He should be with his family, not here. Not in your bed! What's going on?"

Wearily, Christian dropped into one of the sofa seats. "I know where he should be. With his wife. His Dad."

Forcing herself to calm down, Roxy sat down next to her friend and asked, "What's happened? What have you done Christian?"

"He and I have been sleeping together for a while. Quite a while actually. And I love him Rox. I do. I love him so much, and he loves me too. So when I heard that his mum had died… He looks to me to fix things, to make it stop hurting. I had to go!"

"Of course you did." Roxy shook her head. "You know you're just going to hurt, don't you? He's married!"

"I know, and I love Amira, I don't want to hurt her, but I love him more. I want him to be mine." Christian shook his head, but more earnestly professed, "I don't want him to hurt, and his mum's just died."

For a brief moment, Roxy considered burying her face in her hands in sympathy for her friend. "You should have told me."

"I know."

"I have to go back to the Vic. But if anyone asks, I haven't seen you or Syed, promise."

"Thanks babe." Relief washed over Christian's face, but Roxy was not done.

"Don't think you're out of trouble. I won't forget that you didn't tell me."

Sincerely, Christian protested, "I wanted to, I did!"

Getting to her feet, Roxy said, "I know. Gossip later."

Christian made his way to the door. "Thanks."

A moment later, Roxy's arms went around Christian's waist in a tight hug. "I'm sorry. I really am sorry that this had to be you… That this..."

"I'll tell you everything later."

"You'd better." Roxy leant up to press a kiss to her friend's cheek. "Later."

Christian took a moment to check on Syed, and found him curled under the covers, clutching at Christian's pillow in lieu of the man himself, but there was another knock on the door. "What the hell?" He whispered to himself, striding across the room, to push the door open, and find Jane staring at him.

"Have you heard?" Jane elbowed her way into the room.

"Shush!"

"But have you?"

"Of course I have. Now shut up!" Christian gestured to the closed door of his bedroom.

Jane frowned. "Do you have someone over? Oh for God's sake Christian! At this kind of time… Really?"

"Would you keep your voice down? He's not asleep yet," Christian guided Jane over to the sofa.

"What happened to Syed?"

"That is Syed."

000

Two glasses of scotch later, and Jane was much more coherent. Calmer too. "Explain." Her voice shook with the force it took for her to remain level headed.

"He was in the streets, sobbing, and he ran away from where the body of his mum lay… and he ran over here. I couldn't exactly lock him out, could I?" Christian exclaimed.

"Normal people would just… just make him a cup of tea and send him home." Jane's hands held her empty glass tight.

"Well I'm not normal am I? I love him. And if he needs to be… knocked out with a large number of pills then I will provide." Christian shrugged. "He's hurting."

Jane pressed a hand to her forehead, and hung her head. "You're an idiot."

Rolling his eyes, Christian snapped back. "And you're married to one."

"Urgh, don't even go there…" drawled Jane. "He thinks the Masoods are going to sue him for… negligence. His property and all that. They're saying the handle fell off and the door got stuck – she died stuck inside there, with the baby."

"They're not going to sue him, not Masood." Christian was confident of that much at least. With Syed in his bed, he knew very little of what was going to happen. "Jane, how much do you love me?"

"Not enough to give you whatever you're about to ask for," growled Jane.

"Just stay here. With Sy. For an hour, so I can go and check on the family. If he wakes up just tell him… tell him I'll be back. I can't make everything better but I'm going to make it easier," Christian promised.

"D'you have wine?"

"Yes…"

"Leave me a bottle. Then yes," Jane agreed.

000

The door was opened by Amira, her mascara smudged all the way down her cheeks with the flood of her tears.

Christian could do nothing but sigh, "Oh babe." Zainab was the nearest Amira had had to a mother for years. The girl folded into his arms, crumbling as her husband had barely an hour before. "I'm so sorry."

Whereas Syed had stayed in his arms, clinging for as long as he could, Amira pulled away. Her hands went to sort out her hair, and smoothed under her eyes to clear her tears. It did little good. "Sorry, Christian. Please come in." Christian obeyed, stepping inside, as Amira gathered her wits. "Have you seen Syed?"

"He's…" Christian hesitated. "He's at my house. It was too much." The door closed behind him. It wasn't a total lie.

"I need him to… to ring people. He's older than Tamwar. People will listen to him," Amira exclaimed. "They say she died in suspicious circumstances. They want to autopsy."

"And… that's bad?" Christian raised an eyebrow.

"Yes!" Impatient, Amira threw her hands into the air. "They can't desecrate the dead, and she has to be buried in…" She glanced at her watch. "Twenty hours! And that's ignoring the time needed for funeral rites themselves…"

"Shush… shush." Christian reached out to her, grasped her shoulder. "Let Syed sleep. I'll ring them. I'll deal with this." After all he had done to Zainab… He wanted to make it up to her. If he could. And he knew full well how strongly Zainab regarded her religion – enough to damn her eldest son to a lifetime of unhappiness.

"Thank you." Amira's relief was visible on her face. "Thank you. You can have Tam's phone when he's done with… I don't even know. He's going through Mum's phonebook, telling them the funeral's tomorrow… Presuming it's tomorrow."

Gently, Christian squeezed the girl's shoulder. "Are you OK?"

"No." Tears swelled in her dark eyes. "But I have to do this. For Mum." She chuckled weakly. "Can you imagine her reaction if she didn't get a proper funeral?"

Christian laughed too. "I've seen her angry. I'd rather not see it again." He chivvied her through to the lounge. Masood was sat on the sofa, the tiny baby in his arms, its small, pitiful wail escaping its rosebud mouth. Tamwar was on the phone, speaking rapidly in a language Christian didn't understand. Christian could see a page of flight times on the computer screen the boy was scrolling through. He spoke on the home phone, so Christian picked up the mobile on the table. "I'll just… I'll just borrow this shall I?"

Tamwar covered the speaker, with his hand. "There's a card on the…" He rifled through piles of paper on the table. "Here. Ring that number. Ask for… Was it Steve?"

"Steve… Steve Grace," Amira confirmed. She glanced at Tamwar. "I should call my father. He'll want to come. To pay his respects to Mum."

The baby's whimpering grew to a full cry; demanding, impatient. Christian paused his dialling on the tenth digit and hung up. "Masood, you need to feed your baby," he commanded. "Tamwar won't be able to hear what's being said. The kid's hungry."

"I have had three children," growled the father, the first Christian had heard him speak.

"Your fourth needs feeding."

"I think there's some formula in the kitchen," Amira said. "Just in case. I don't know how to do it."

"I do," offered Christian.

000

Christian rubbed at the bead of milk on his arm, which he had temperature tested and deemed sufficient. "Here Masood. Take it." He offered the bottle. The child cried all the harder, waving his pink fists.

"No." Masood had a phone by his side, and placed the child on the sofa, as if it were a doll he could forget about. "I'll ring that… that Steve."

He disappeared into the hallway before Christian could say another word, leaving Christian with no choice but to lift the screaming child into his arms, carefully supporting his fragile head. The baby quickly quieted when it was offered the teat of the bottle, understanding immediately what to do.

Amira looked away from her telephone call with the mosque, and whispered, "Thank you Christian. Thank you."

Christian gazed down at the child in his arms and murmured softly to him. It was not fair that he would have to face this for the rest of his life. "What's his name?" he asked.

"Kamil," Tamwar said, hanging up. "Aunt Aisha isn't coming in. She can't get a flight. Apparently, she's in the Australian outback." He shrugged. "Mum always wanted to call him Kamil."

"Kamil," Christian repeated.

000

It took perhaps forty-five minutes for Masood to convince the authorities to compromise on Zainab's body. They would examine her with as much contact as any human doctor, for they were already sure enough of her cause of death, draw blood to check for toxins, but other than that, they would not touch her. They swore that they understood, and that the private ambulance would return with her by morning.

Tamwar and Amira were nearing the end of their list of people to invite. Christian could not understand how they remained so calm, particularly Tamwar. His voice was perfectly steady each time that he announced the news, though Amira threatened to dissolve into tears each time. More than once, Christian had not been able to just sit by the sleeping, satiated baby's bassinette, and had stood, pulled her against his chest where she stood, clutching the telephone in perfectly manicured hands.

He couldn't tell her to hush, when she needed to cry, and each time she did she would square her embroidered silk clad shoulders after a few moments and pull herself together with deep breaths. She regained the organised business-like air and returned to her organisation. Christian would let her go.

Tamwar had no such moments of fault. He was… not numb as Masood was but calm and controlled. Snapping too briskly over the phone. Not the Tamwar Christian knew or liked.

Once Kamil slept, Christian floated, as useless as laddered tights. When Amira reached the Ts in her phonebook, Christian decided to slip away, with promises that he would check on Syed. Promises he intended to fulfil in full.

000

Half a bottle of wine later and Jane was bored. Christian's books were of no interest to her – very little at least, and there was nothing on TV. Ian had rung her twice, demanding to know where she was, when she was coming back. The third time, she'd just ignored him. Phones made it easy to do that. Just one little button shut a man up.

Once three quarters of the bottle of wine had mysteriously disappeared, Christian appeared. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" He swung down onto the sofa, so violently he made the cushion Jane was sitting on bounce. A kiss was pressed to her forehead, one cheek then the other. "Thank you. So much."

"Anytime." Jane held up the bottle. "I… er… Sorry." The last dregs sloshed inside as she shook it.

Christian laughed and immediately smothered his mouth to restrain it, not wanting to wake his lover. But when he wanted to, oh, that boy could sleep. "Take it home. Think of it as a doggy… doggy bowl?"

With a shrug, Jane said, "Oh alright then. If I must…"

"Did he wake up?" Christian nodded towards the bedroom door.

"He's not a child you have to babysit, Christian," pointed out Jane.

"No, but I-" Christian paused and glanced down to where his hands had knotted. "He's just lost his mother. I don't want him hurting and on his own."

Jane got to her feet and demanded, "Be good to him Christian. He's already hurting."

"I'm going to be."

At the door, Jane paused, "Do you ever think you should give him up? His family needs him."

Distress flickered over Christian's face. "All the time. And I've tried, I truly have. But I can't." He sighed. "I love him."

000

"Christian…" Syed moaned miserably, roused by the weight of the man he named land next to him.

"Hush, shh," whispered Christian. The younger man was pale, even against Christian's cream sheets, but he rolled over into Christian's hold. "Go back to sleep. It's got late."

Syed didn't listen to him. He rarely did. "I should go home."

Repeating himself, Christian said, "You should go back to sleep." The warmth of the younger man's body against his was perfect, and he felt bad for noticing it. They rarely stayed like this for long: Syed always had to rush off to put his mask back in place and return to his wife. "Funeral's tomorrow afternoon at two. They've got it sorted. Promise." His hand stroked Syed's face, tracing the soft skin delicately. "They're fine."

Dark eyes scanned his critically. "Did you ring?"

"I went over; explained you were here. Leant a hand… with your baby brother." Christian nibbled at his lip nervously, afraid of his reaction.

None came. Eyelids merely fluttered closed. "I don't want to know."

Christian was persistent. "They called him Kamil."

"Mum's favourite name," Syed hoarsely whispered.

"You should see him," Christian's lips quirked in a smile Syed – whose eyes were closed and his head turned away – could not see. "He's beautiful."

Syed swallowed. "Mum died having him. She never wanted him."

Christian pressed a kiss to the back of Syed's head. "Don't say that. I know she grew to love him."

Unwilling to say any more, scared of the emotions threatening to well up inside him, Syed shook his head. "Let me go back to sleep."

Christian did so, resisting the urge to even say a word. However, Syed linked his hand through the older man's, silently begging for forgiveness. It was quietly granted with a light kiss pressed behind the ear. He wanted to make it better, though all he could do was hold the younger man tight.


End file.
